All The Lights Are Blinding
by Telyn
Summary: It's six years since the side of Light won the war. Life goes on, at least for everyone else. Not so for Harry Potter. And when a strangely changed Draco turns up on his doorstep, Harry finds he can't help himself... WIP
1. Chapter 1

The shrill sound of the doorbell was boring into his head, screaming in his dreams. Harry awoke with a start, a gummy syllable still in his mouth from the nightmare. His heart was racing. The doorbell trilled again. Harry put his hands over his ears.

_Please, not the magical bloody paparazzi again!_

He pressed his face into the sagging mattress, trying to block out the sound of the persistant doorbell. Go away, go away, go away… The doorbell kept ringing, someone thumping on the thick wood of his front door.

With a groan, Harry reached out his hand for his glasses, groping blindly. His sleep-clumsy fingers found nothing but his alarm clock. He knocked a glass of water – it trembled and slopped cold water over his hand. Harry swore.

The doorbell rang again, angrily.

He rolled reluctantly out of bed and stood up, yawning and rubbing the grit from his eyes. When he opened them, the tiny bedroom was a dark blur. What time was it, anyway? He peered at the digital display of his muggle alarm clock, but saw nothing but a green smear across his vision.

He lurched across to the front door, the banging becoming ever louder. Harry didn't bother looking through the peephole.

"GO AWAY!" He shouted over the din. Silence fell almost immediately. Harry sighed. It was like a balm to his ears. He was turning away when the muffled voice came through the wood, almost inaudibly.

"Harry?"

Harry turned back, unable to believe his ears. He recognised that voice. But it couldn't be! He was decieving himself. "Who is it?" He faltered.

"Please open the door, Harry..." There was a pleading note in the too-familiar voice beyond the door. He had heard that tone before, but its existence now implied too many things. Harry's knees trembled as if they were about to give way. There was a gaping hole in his chest where his heart had been only a few minutes earlier, but still the blood was pounding in his ears.

He stepped forward and fumbled with the bolts frantically, his fingers shaking. It couldn't be! But if it was…! The last bolt slid across as if coated with tar, and Harry turned the Yale lock and swung open the door, preparing himself for diappointment.

He saw nothing but a blur in the darkened hallway. He blinked, squinted. The figure in front of him stood very still. "Who…?"

He felt a warm hand grip his wrist and jerked with surprise. The hand guided his to the side, beside the door. His fingers touched the little table he kept there, groping over the wood. The stranger's hand guided his further.

Harry felt the hard coldness of his glasses beneath his hand and grabbed them, shoving them onto his nose and looking up.

He stared into the silver-cast eyes and felt the world spin around him.

Draco Malfoy gazed out from the shadow of a thick cloak's hood, changed dramatically from the last time Harry had seen him. Harry leant on the doorjamb for support, his knees almost failing him. The eyes, those once-immortal eyes, had aged. For all their pale light, there was a new darkness there. Harry couldn't help wondering what he had seen in the past six years. He looked exhausted.

"Harry," the voice that issued from what had once been Harry's archnemesis was almost too soft to hear. "Forgive me." With this, Draco seemed to give up his last reserves of strength and he crumpled, hitting the floor before Harry had time to catch him.


	2. Chapter 2

It was 5:02am. The city was sluggishly awaking, yawning, stretching its limbs. The blue film of the night still covered the streets, but it was waning with the approach of the sun. A train rumbled past shrieking, the apartment building shaking with the thunder of its wheels. Then it was gone, and Harry was left to pace in silence, no sound accompanying him but for that of Draco's breathing and his own cat-quiet footfalls, muffled by thick socks.

He had lain Draco's limp body on his own bed and covered him up with the quilt. He was breathing deeply now, asleep rather than just unconcious. Harry had stripped him of his travelling cloak and gaped silently at his shirt. The plain cotton was stiff with brown flowers of dried blood. He had hesitated, his hands hovering inches above Draco's helpless body. He didn't dare to touch him, even to tend his wounds.

He hadn't had the courage to even brush the tangles from his beautiful hair. Harry sighed and turned away from Draco. His face looked serene, all the lines and care smoothed away. _A sleep like death_, he thought, and wondered when the last time

Draco had got a solid night's slumber was.

Harry wandered into the kitchen and opened a cupboard, taking down a tin of spaghetti absent-mindedly. He yawned, remembering his tiredness, and kneaded his forehead, the light hum of the electric can-opener a peaceful counterpoint to his thoughts. Draco Malfoy – the name just set off alarm signals in his brain. It didn't conjure up a picture of the man lying asleep only metres away from where Harry stood now.

Harry had thought he was dead.

He extracted the tin from the can-opener and laid the sharp lid aside. As he poured the sludgy muggle food into a pyrex bowl, he couldn't stop his thoughts wandering back to that night. He didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't stop himself.

That terrible night. The last night for so many. Harry felt the world moving around him once again, just when hed thought it had become steady again. His vision blurred, reeled, spun and went black. The screaming had begun again, filling his ears. He thought he saw blood! He tried to move, jerked absurdly, felt his knees buckle and fell.

He kept on falling.

When he hit the grass, the world stopped shaking. It was dark. The freezing air bit into his bare flesh, and he shivered. The grass was wet. He was afraid. He hadn't been able to find the last one. But now it was too late, he was going to be killed and he hadn't even his wand to defend himself with. He could hear chanting. It sounded distorted, sometimes close, sometimes far off. He cowered helplessly on the grass, fingers digging into the mud.

"Potter!"

Too many familiar voices. It couldn't be true – could it? Could they all have betrayed him?

"Wake up!"

Harry jolted upright, panting. He looked wildly about the room. His glasses were askew. He straightened them with a shaking hand and wiped his forehead. There was spaghetti on the kitchen floor, on his jeans. Draco was in front of him, pale eyes wide.

"What happened, Potter?"

_Just another flashback, Malfoy._ He sounded bitter in his head. The way he used to sound, back at Hogwarts. His head was beginning to hurt. "Nothing," he muttered, and pushed away from Draco, standing up. He looked down in disgust at his jeans.

"I'll get that for you," there is a rare tinge of kindness in Draco's tone, and Harry looked up to see him drawing his wand.

"No!" He almost shouted, lunging forward to grab Draco's bony wrist. "Don't," he muttered through clenched teeth. Draco's face was inches from his own. He saw his silver eyes narrow.

"Why not?" His voice had suddenly become icy. Harry suppressed a shiver.

"The press," he explained, trying to keep his voice level. "The international wizarding press. If I use magic, they'll find me." He shrugged his shoulders. "And I've been trying so long to get away," he added bleakly.

Draco moved closer and dipped his head to talk softly into Harry's ear. Harry's breath caught in his throat when he felt the hot breath on his neck. Oh, he so wanted to be warm.

"That doesn't stop me from using magic, now does it, Potter?"

Harry stiffened consciously. "Don't you think it's time to call me by my first name now? We're not in school any more," he said, taking a deep breath. "Draco."

Draco smirked. "Well done," he mocked. "That must be the first time you've said my name in six years."

Harry scowled at him and turned away.

"Stop!"

Harry didn't stop.

"Harry!" Draco sounded desperate. Harry turned around, leaning on the doorjamb again. Draco was still wearing his bloodied clothes, his hair was still knotted and tangled. "At least let me clean you up." His voice was thin, stretched. Harry shrugged.

He stood still while the mess was magicked away, back into the bowl. He felt a tingling sensation all over his body, and closed his eyes. It felt good. It felt cleansing. When it was over, Harry opened his eyes to find Draco gazing at him again. "Thanks," he said, a little begrudgingly.

Draco smiled, silver eyes dancing. "Any time, Potter."

_Author's Note:_

_Thanks for my brilliant reviews! I never thought people would be that nice about the first chapter. It's really brightened my day and given me the motivation to, instead of doing my Sociology coursework (damn interpretivists), edit this chapter and get it up on the site and then do some more writing for chapter four._

_As you can see, I'm a little ahead of schedule right now. :)_

_I'm planning to, if I can, update once a day. This should boost my monthly wordcount prodigeously! As for how long it'll be, I haven't a clue yet. Probably more than ten chapters, but right now I'm just going with the flow. _

_Thanks again to my reviewers – this one's for you._

_Jen_

_xox_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I'm just a talentless hack who can't create her own characters. All belongs to JKR.

"I need to go to work." Harry watched Draco for any signs of acknowledgement. The other man was sprawled elegantly across the cheap couch reading, lending it an air of luxury the way only Draco Malfoy could. "Draco?"

The name still felt strange in his mouth. He couldn't count the number of times he had used it in his head in the last six years, but he had never spoken it out loud.

"Draco! I'm talking to you!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Potter," Draco feigned indifference, but Harry saw a small frown crease his forehead. "I heard you." He didn't look up from his book.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to continue reading this fine work of Tolstoy," Draco answered absently. Harry glared at him. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminated his slender figure, lighting up his hair and turning it perfect pale gold. He looked flawless. Harry hated it. He had seen himself in the mirror that morning. He looked like he'd just worked sixteen hours straight. He had huge purple bruises under his eyes, and his flesh was pasty. This morning, it seemed, he couldn't kid himself that this wasn't the way he always looked.

It wasn't fair! Draco shouldn't look so good for someone who had collapsed on his doorstep just two hours ago. Now, fitted up in Harry's clothes, he looked as perfectly groomed as he always had.

Except for that final night…

Harry put it out of his brain, snapping at Malfoy irritably. "What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?"

Draco looked up, caught by surprise at the question. His eyes were full of silver fire from the morning sun. "Am I getting too much for you already, Potter?"

Harry noticed the avoidance. "Stop changing the subject, Draco, and you promised to call me by my _name_."

"Well," Draco sniffed, letting his copy of _War and Peace_ fall onto the couch by his side as he swung his legs into a sitting position, "if you don't want me here, I'll go. Just thought it would be nice to drop in on the Boy Who Lived after six years. Six _long_ years," he emphasised, "years of complete radio silence on your part."

"Don't call me that." Harry snarled. "Ever."

"Touchy," Draco snapped, standing up. "As I said, if you find my presence so repulsive, I'll leave you in peace."

Harry was about to snap out a retort when he realised what was happening. He stared at Draco, his mind a whirl of confused thoughts. How had this suddenly blown up into an argument? He hadn't wanted it to go like this! "Draco…" he began, reaching out a hand to touch the other man's arm. Draco jerked away.

"Keep your mudblood hands off me, Potter," he spat viciously, his face contorted by a sneer. He seemed to change then, suddenly, and stepped back from Harry, his eyes widening. "I-"

"Shut it, Malfoy!" Harry said, his voice remarkably level. Anger sunk into him like an icy ghost, filling him with cold fury. "Shut up and get out of my apartment!"

"But-"

"Don't talk!" Harry was fuming. His head felt light on his shoulders, but his hands hung heavy at his sides. The heat was rising in his cheeks. "Just get out!" He hadn't changed! After the supposedly caring, remorseful Malfoy façade slipped, he could see Draco just hadn't changed.

The other man stiffened, squaring his shoulders. He tilted his head back. "If that's the way you want to be, Harry Potter," he said with an audible effort, "it's your funeral." He snatched his heavy cloak from the back of the couch and swung it 'round his shoulders. "See you in Hell."

Harry thought he detected a break in his voice, and watched Draco as he strode away and slammed the door behind him, leaving a sudden hole in Harry's life.

_Author's Note:_

_Thanks again, guys! The reviews are great. I'm really enjoying writing this, my first story for You rock!_

_And I can't spell prodigious. Damn. Well, it's my own arrogance – I don't spellcheck my work. I hearby apologise for all the typos and errors I've made already. I'm such a n00b._

_Jen_

_xox_


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Harry and Draco, I would be making them do much more interesting things than fighting each other (although you can't tell much difference now – but just you wait).

Harry didn't go to work. Instead, he stayed at home, sprawled on the couch, fingering the copy of _War and Peace_ that Draco had been reading. Why had he become so infuriated? But really, why was Draco so infuriat_ing_? But of Harry's many questions, that was of the least consequence.

Harry couldn't for the life of him think why Draco had turned up at his door so early in the morning, and why on earth he had asked Harry to forgive him. Harry had thought all his sins had been absolved by his actions on the final night.

But he wouldn't think about that again.

Harry sighed and turned over, stretched out on his stomach with his feet dangling over the arm of the couch. Seeing Draco – his first contact with the wizarding world for years – had brought everything back. His presence had intruded, his aura so shining bright and elegant that he couldn't be ignored. Now Harry couldn't get Draco Malfoy out of his head, and he couldn't deny the existence of the others connected with him, either.

Draco, however lightly he travelled, came loaded inexorably with Harry's baggage; the names he didn't want to remember, the faces he couldn't forget. When Harry took his glasses off, the memories just came into sharper focus.

And he couldn't stop thinking about the mysteries of Draco's sudden appearance. The innumerable questions consumed his mind, took over his thoughts. When he had called in sick to work, his boss had asked him if it was anything serious.

"You even sound ill!" She laughed, and Harry tried his best to laugh along with her.

"Yeah," he said, trying to sound less despondent than he felt. "But I'm sure I'll be fine tomorrow."

He wasn't sure at all. In fact, he felt like he wouldn't be fine for a long time.

Just as Harry was preparing to get up and do something to try and take his mind off Draco, he heard a sound behind him. It was the softest sound, a feathery, delicate sound like snow falling. He pushed himself off the couch and turned to try and search it out.

The answer was right in front of him.

There was a huge brown owl outside the window, beating its wings on the glass. Harry stared, distraught, as its lambent yellow eyes gazed right through him. His stomach had dropped into his socks.

"Please," he said, walking slowly towards the window. "Don't say they've found me. Please, oh please…" With numb fingers, he fumbled with the latch for minutes that stretched like hours until it finally fell open and Harry pushed the window outwards.

The owl glided in on soft wings and alighted silently, holding out a leg to Harry. Its feathers, on closer inspection, were in a shabby disarray, and the bird itself looked half-starved. Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity.

"Wait there," he told it, shutting the window. "I'll get you something to eat." He felt no embarrassment at talking to a bird. It was at least better than talking to himself.

In the kitchen he found the cold remains of the spaghetti he had had so much trouble making, and brought it back to the messenger. The owl had hooted gratefully at Harry and buried its head in the bowl, losing all pretence of dignity. While it was otherwise occupied, Harry untied the green threads holding the parchment envelope to its leg.

When he looked down at the emerald-coloured ink scrawled across the parchment, Harry felt a wave of nostalgia hit him that was almost tangible. He swayed and flung out a hand to steady himself on the windowsill. He remembered the first time he had ever held a parchment envelope in his hands – a godforsaken rock in the middle of the ocean, battered by wind and waves, and the letter that would change his life handed to him by a friendly giant.

He wouldn't remember that. No, he wouldn't! But he felt the dizziness encroaching, the fatal blackness drawing near. No, not him, don't remember him. He reached out for something to hold onto.

Harry fell backwards with a cry when he heard a mind-shattering crack.

The pyrex bowl rolled across the floor on its rim a further few inches before toppling over with another, lesser bang. Harry stared at it stupidly, rubbing his head. He could feel the beginnings of a headache, but the threatening flashback was gone. He sighed and sat up. He looked up at the window.

"Fuck," he swore, standing up hurriedly. Silver fracture lines radiated out from a spot on the window pane, and the owl was lying motionless on the sill. It must have been panicked by the noise, Harry realised. He tentatively reached out a finger to stroke it: no reaction. He swore again.

This was not going to be a good day. He looked up at the grey sky outside, where darker thunderheads were rolling in on the horizon.

He couldn't live like this. "I need to find Draco," he muttered to himself, heading for the door.

…

_Author's Note:_

_Once again, thanks to my reviewers for bearing with me. I have no beta but still no faith in my writings skills. This is possibly the most unpolished, unprofessional fic I've written since I've been able to write competently. But I'm having way too much fun to worry right now! So I'm sorry to those who find my jabberings unreadable._

_Writing this fic has unblocked me miraculously, not just with fanfic but with my original works as well. For this, I have you all to thank._

_Also: anonymous reviews are now enabled. Thanks, ATadObsessive46, for pointing that out to me. :)_

_Another apology for you. I'm sorry these chapters have been so short. That is the result of me testing the waters, so to speak, and getting back into the rhythm of writing regularly and (hopefully) grippingly again. I'm currently two chapters ahead of what I'm posting each day (to make sure I'm not hugely stressed for writing at any point in the future) and chapters five and six are much longer than these shorties. _

_Love y'all!_

_Jen_

_xox_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I spend my days drooling over them, but they're not for sale. Harry and Draco belong exclusively to JKR.

…

It started raining almost as soon as Harry left his apartment block. It came down in grey sheets, turning the roads into rivers and soaking Harry within no time at all. When he was streets away from his home, he realised how stupid he was being. How in the name of Godric Gryffindor – don't think, don't remember – was he going to find Draco? He had no idea where he had gone.

But he kept searching.

Harry visited all the pubs near his apartment block, in the hopes that Draco would be sheltering in one. Unsurprisingly, there was no trace. He tried the scabbiest, most criminal places close by, at least that he dared enter. Nothing. Harry eventually settled for appeasing his restless spirit by scouring the friendless streets in the pouring rain, moving in an ever-widening circle from his apartment block.

There was almost nobody on the streets. The rain was pelting down with a storm fierceness, bitingly cold, and it was the middle of the day. Businessmen and office-workers sheltered in cafés, staring dismally out into the weather. Harry felt stupid. He kept looking, nonetheless.

With every new corner turned to the sight of an empty street, Harry's heart fell further. Every time he saw someone hurrying in the rain, his pulse started to pound in his head. When he realised it wasn't Draco, he felt as if his spirits were being sucked out by a powerful tide.

Eventually, when he was almost ready to give up, a spark of hope shone briefly in the darkness.

"Mr Potter?"

Harry turned wearily to face his accoster. He was cold enough and tired enough now that he didn't care if the paparazzi had found him. They could wonder as they wished as to why the infamous Harry Potter was wandering about in the rain, soaked to the skin. He wasn't going to tell them.

But his adressor wasn't a wizarding reporter. It was a small, hunched old man, with what remained of a head of grey hair plastered to his mocha-coloured skull. He was just as wet as Harry. The old man smiled sympathetically at him, and Harry returned it. "Yes?"

"Ah, right," he smiled wider, the American accent that should've been familiar astonishing Harry without reason. "I found ya. I was told to tell ya sumtin'," he leaned towards him, "by a young English man."

_Draco!_ "Yes?" Harry repeated eagerly, leaning forward as well to catch the news. He had finally found a lead! "What is it?"

"Well, let me see now," the old man pondered, putting a stubby finger to his lips pensively. "What was it?" Harry bit his lip impatiently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He had to know! "I think I remember. He said to tell Mr Harry Potter – that's you," he nodded towards Harry, who clenched his jaw, "that he was sorry." The old man smiled, lips stretching to reveal perfect white teeth.

"Anything else?" Harry asked urgently. "Anything at all?"

The old man shrugged each of his shoulders in turn and frowned. "Yes, I think there was something else." He paused, picking an imaginary piece of food from his teeth with his thumbnail.

"What was it?" Harry prompted softly, almost ready to collapse with anticipation.

"He said that you were to find him at the train station if you wanted to get him back."

Harry's heart stilled within him. "He said what?"

"Find him at the train station," the man repeated gently, "before three-thirty, he said. He was taking a train to… ah, now, I forget… someplace south."

"Shit!" Harry swore, slapping a hand to his forehead in distress. "How did he know you'd find me?"

"He said you live here." The old man jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Harry looked up.

Somehow, he had wandered unknowingly back his apartment block.

He swore again, taking off his steamy glasses to wipe them. "Do you know what time it is?"

The old man shrugged and shook his head. Without thanking him for his information, Harry turned and sprinted away.

He didn't stop running until he got to the station, ten blocks away. His lungs were burning, he could hardly catch his breath, but he didn't care. There was a pounding pain in his head, bu Harry kept running, the pavement racing away underneath his squelching shoes too slowly.

But by the time he got to the train station, the platforms were deserted. The rain still poured down, hitting the muddy concrete like bullets. The train tracks were almost swimming in puddles the size of koi ponds. The dark sky grumbled above Harry. There was no one here.

Desperately praying to something, anything, he turned. A huge clock was suspended was from a wrought iron arm that curved above Platform One. Its old fashioned hands read 3.52.

When Harry's legs gave way underneath him, he was shaking violently. His hands and feet felt numb. He sunk to his knees next to a dilapitated bench.

He was gone. Harry felt like a fool. Draco Malfoy was long gone, bound for the sunny south. He tried to imagine where the delicate Draco would go. Louisiana? Texas? He burned in the sun.

Why had he been so desperate to find Malfoy? And why so keen to forget that he was still a prejudiced Slytherin like he had been back at school? He had talked to Harry the same way he used to insult his muggle-born friends.

It had never stopped stopped Harry loving him back then, though.

_No!_ Harry struggled to his feet. _He had _never_ loved Malfoy! He had just been a foolish adolescent, wracked with lust. It had just been a stupid mistake._ He leant against the wall for support, desperately trying not to recall the feel of Draco's soft skin, the feel of Harry's fingers tangled in his hair. Despite the freezing rain, he was overwhelmed with memories of the warm dark nights of passion. _No!_

Harry tried to run from the platform, but his legs felt like they were made of senseless lead and they tangled with each other, tripping him up. He hit the ground hard, pain shooting through his jaw as his chin smacked the concrete and he bit his tongue.

He lay still for a moment, defeated, as the rain pounded down on his prone body. His glasses were misty with condensation, and he thought he could smell Draco's scent again, so familiar even after all these years. It was like lavender and something indefinably _his_. Even though he was soaked through, even though his mouth was full of blood, Harry treasured the scent-memory. It made him feel warm, even just for a moment before he remembered that its owner was gone.

Harry spat blood, wiping his mouth on his shirt sleeve and staining it with smears of red. He resettled his glasses on his nose after cleaning them on his shirt. And then he got up and started limping home.

Alone.

…

_Author's Note:_

_Just another thank you to all my faithful reviewers. You guys make me feel special. :D _

_Jen_

_xox_


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Harry and Draco and any of their affiliates are not mine. You've all seen what I do to them when they're under my power. If they were mine, the books would be a _very_ different story. eg But they're not. They belong to JKR, and she does with them as she chooses.

_Early Author's Note: WARNING: this chapter contains crap writing. :)_

He wasn't there when Harry got home, sodden and covered in blood and bruises. He didn't come when Harry sunk into the hot water of his bath, listening carefully for any telltale sounds. He failed to appear when Harry climbed out of the bath, rubbing himself dry with a towel, ignoring his aching injuries. He didn't come that night.

Harry found he couldn't stomach the thought of food. He drew the blinds closed and turned the lights low. He didn't have the patience for the internet – he kept finding himself drifting into absent reveries, or listening out anxiously for the sound of a footfall in the hallway. The television was a meaningless blur of noise and colours.

The only book that could keep Harry occupied was _War and Peace_. He found a squat bottle of gin and settled himself on the couch, reading the words that the other man had read and listening, always listening, for a soft knock on the door. He read and listened and remembered Draco until he fell asleep.

Harry woke, hungover and still as tired as he had been before sleep overtook him, and went through the motions of getting up mechanically, without thinking. It had only taken a day to wreck the fragile mental stability he had built up after the end of the war. Only one day to ruin six years' work.

But he went to work anyway. His boss told him he still looked run down and advised him to go home again. Harry had gazed at her with such abject horror that she had quickly reassured him he didn't have to go and retreated again.

He spent a dull morning numbly working at the till of his local supermarket, ringing the same essential items through again and again. He barely had the patience to deal with the customers civilly, but spoke flatly and uninterestedly, as if he were in a trance.

It felt like it. It was a curious dissociation from the outside world, as if everyone else was moving beyond a screen, as if Harry alone was closed in a glass box. The air was stale and hard to breathe behind the glass. On his lunch break, Harry was almost unsurprised to find himself fighting for breath. But he could only think of Draco.

It was that lunch break that saved him.

There was one single thing that caught Harry's attention. He couldn't remember, looking back on it later, exactly what it was that had filtered into the glass box that drawn him in. But he stopped to listen.

A pair of his co-workers were sharing a piece of gossip over cigarettes and polystyrene cups of coffee.

"Didja hear about this guy they found this morning?"

"A guy? What're ya talkin' about?"

"A guy. They found him outside the doors this morning, when they came to open up."

"Oh my god! They found a body?"

Harry inhaled sharply. He knew, he just knew… He felt the glass box dissolving around him, his limbs tingling.

"No, 'course they didn't find a body. You'd know by now if they found a body!"

"I thought so."

"Yeah." The girl blew smoke through her nostrils before continuing. "Anyway, they just found this guy lying outside our doors this morning. Unconscious, all ripped up and bloody!"

"God!"

"I know. They cleaned it up pretty good, huh?"

"Yeah! I didn't see a thing this morning."

Harry clenched his fists with impatience. "Excuse me," he interrupted with gritted teeth. "Do you happen to know where they took that man they found?"

There was a small pause, and Harry waited with scant patience while they giggled at his English accent. He was used to it.

"Yeah, I know," the informed girl said at last, mastering her mirth. "They took him to St. David's, the hospital on the corner of 10th and Brooklane."

"St. David's," Harry muttered under his breath as the girls glanced at each other and giggled again.

"So, um," the bolder girl attempted, "you wouldn't happen to be free tonight, would? I just _love_ your accent."

"What?" Harry looked up into her heavily made-up face and shook his head distractedly. "No. Sorry. In fact, I don't feel that well. Could you tell Janet I went home like she told me to?"

Without waiting for a reply, he broke away, striding out of the store and onto the busy pavement. The storm had blown over overnight, and the drying streets were packed again as usual. Harry fought his way mercilessly through the crowd to the kerbside.

He looked around stupidly. There was a bus stop nearby but he couldn't remember the timetable. His head was a mess of thoughts, all panicked, all jostling for attention. His chest felt tight. He had to get to that hospital, he had to! He had to get there _now_.

10th and Brooklane… Where was that? Harry turned around in a circle, trying to regain his bearings. Too confused! The crowds pushed past him, making him stumble out between parked cars into the street. He had never felt as alone as he did now. He needed help!

A horn blared and Harry jumped backwards, out of the way of a speeding Mercer as it flashed by. People on the pavement were staring at him as they passed, shaking their heads. He just wanted to get to Draco. Horrified, he thought he felt the beginnings of tears welling in his throat. His nose prickled.

He wasn't going to cry here, in a street full of people! Wiping a hand across his forehead, he breathed deeply. _Calm down, just calm down…_ He could feel the blackness coming on, but he wouldn't surrender to that, either. He had to get to the hospital.

He placed his hands flat on the bonnet of a parked car and closed his eyes, inhaling through his nose. It didn't take him too long to calm down sufficiently that he could re-enter the people traffic on the pavement.

He hurried against the tide, pushing past people rudely without apologising. He didn't care about their mediocre muggle lives, he growled inwardly. He just needed to see Draco, make sure everything was all right.

When he was still a couple of blocks from the hospital, Harry pulled himself up short, panting. What on earth was he thinking? He clapped a hand to his forehead. What had made him think this stranger could possibly be Draco? All the girl had said was that they'd found a guy all torn up outside their shop in the morning. It could easily be just some wino who got into a fight. _Fuck_.

But he had this feeling.

Harry walked the remaining distance to the little hospital more slowly, arguing with himself. He had thought that chapter was closed – Draco was gone, wasn't he, bound for the south? But still, here he was, foolishly rushing off because of a _feeling_ he had had. It still burned there, in the pit of his stomach, like an ember that wouldn't die. He didn't want to think about it.

By the time he pushed his way through the revolving doors of St. David's, his heart was in his mouth.

The reception was decorated in pale greens and blues, and there were hardly any patients waiting around to mess up the elegant lines of the furniture. Harry felt out of place. Of course, he thought, Draco was the heir of a wealthy wizarding family. _Even the muggles must know he's rich._

Harry sucked in his breath and walked up to the sweeping reception desk. An efficiently coiffured blonde gave him a polite smile. He felt too aware of his work clothes, declaring him to one and all a menial till-worker at a supermarket. Still, he smiled nervously back at the receptionist.

"Hi," he attempted, and coughed. "I was just wondering if, you know, you'd had anyone in today…" he took a deep breath, his heart leaping back up into his throat. "…by the name of Draco Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy," she repeated, her voice high and pleasant. Harry had almost expected it to be. She fitted with everything else here – smooth, efficient, pleasant. It made a stark contrast to Harry's local hospital.

The receptionist was tapping away on her keyboard, a half smile fixed on her face obviously for the benefit of the public. "Yes," she finally said.

Harry's jaw dropped open. His head felt like it was rising up off his neck; he had to grip the edge of the counter for support. "You're sure?" He managed to croak. He was here. Draco was here! He knew it!

"Yes," she said simply, her smile turned up to full wattage again. "He was admitted this morning."

"Can I see him?" Harry asked urgently, leaning forward. "Please, I really need to see him."

The smile faltered. "I'm sorry, sir," she said. "But Mr Malfoy signed himself out… let's see… about an hour ago." Harry's heart dropped again and his shoulders slumped.

"Oh. All right." He sniffed, scuffed his foot against the floor, then looked up again. "Do you know where he went?"

"Sorry," the receptionist shook her head again. "I don't."

Harry turned away without another word and slouched despondently out into the street. The sky was white with the promise of rain. There were less people out and about than before, it seemed. Harry kept walking without looking up.

Gone again. So close! He had allowed Draco to slip through his fingers again. He had missed his second chance.

But why had the infuriating Slytherin been in town anyway? Harry had thought he was long gone. Directing his steps back towards his own district, Harry quickly eschewed the idea of returning to work. Instead, he spent an hour searching for the old man who had given him Draco's message the day before.

He was nowhere to be found. When it began to drizzle, Harry gave up the search and turned his feet to home dismally. Perhaps this chapter _was_ finally closed. Now he would need some time to get over it.

The door to his apartment was unlocked when he returned home, and Harry frowned, turning the brass knob and pushing it. The door swung open slowly to reveal his darkened living room. He felt on the wall for the lightswitch.

"Please don't. The light hurts my eyes."

Harry froze, his hand groping the paintwork. The voice had come from inside the apartment, in the living room. It sounded like… he peered into the darkness. The curtains were drawn, shutting out the afternoon light. "Draco?" he said tentatively, hardly daring to hope.

A tall, slender figure stood from the couch, stepping towards Harry, who gasped. Draco's clothes – or, rather, Harry's clothes – was torn and rent, revealing white surgical bandages beneath. His hair was mussed. Harry couldn't see his eyes – they were in shadow. "I found the owl," he began, trailing a hand lightly over the back of the couch. "It's sleeping now. I got it a cage." He paused. "I found the letter too."

"Did you read it?" Harry asked numbly.

"Of course not," Draco said more abruptly, a frown marring his delicate features. "We Malfoys…" He looked away. "I have _some_ honour, at least."

Silence fell. Harry shut the door behind him, but stayed with his back pressed to it. Draco stood, his head bowed, in the middle of the dark living room. Harry sought desperately for something to say.

"Why did you stay?" He blurted, feeling like an embarrassed schoolboy once again.

Draco looked up. He smiled wearily. "Harry," he simply said.

…

_Author's Note: _

_See? Crapness. I'll make the next ones better, promise. Brownie's Honour._

_Anyways, thanks for the reviews! Keep 'em coming, folks, you inspire me. Harry and Draco are all I can think about during school hours now. When I'm meant to be taking notes on Hans Selye and Kierkegaard and Descartes, I'm off in the corner, plotting like mad._

_Mleh. At least in English Lang./Lit. I can take notes without looking suspicious. Anyhows, this chapter is dedicated to Robert Frost, because he writes subtly pornographic poetry._

_Jen_

_xox_


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. JKR is queen of all.

…

"I can't stay here, you know."

Harry was glad that Draco had broached the subject first. He hadn't known how. He turned his head to pick out Malfoy's form in the gloom. "I know," he sighed.

Draco was a refined silhouette against soft light seeping through the curtains. Harry could see the bulky bandages beneath his clothes and itched to know what had happened. Draco spoke before he could say anything. "I'll check into a hotel tonight."

"Does it have to be like this?" Somehow, the darkness made talking easier for Harry. He didn't have to acknowledge to himself that he was talking to the hated Draco Malfoy.

"Perhaps not, Potter," Draco said, standing perfectly still. "But for now, this is the way it shall stay."

Harry felt very tired. He wanted to reach customarily for the gin bottle, but stopped himself. He didn't want to appear weak to Malfoy. Standing up abruptly, he resettled his glasses on his nose before quickly crossing the distance between them.

Draco remained motionless, his face impassive. His hair had fallen forward, casting his eyes into shadow. Harry gazed at him from behind his glasses. At last, he spoke.

"I don't want to waste this chance, Draco."

Draco's head jerked up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Harry said hurriedly, "is that I haven't seen anyone from… before… for six years. Now you're here. I don't want you to…" He trailed off, avoiding Draco's eyes.

"Go?" Draco asked simply. "You don't want me to go?"

Harry hesitated, something within his chest trembling for a reason he didn't know. Then he nodded, a hot blush creeping into his cheeks. How did people bear this intensity? How did people bear this closeness to others? It felt like something raw and frightening. Even with Draco's cock in his hand he had never felt this close.

He lifted a shaking hand to brush a bandage on Draco's arm. "What happened?"

The other man stepped back away from Harry and his touch. "None of your business, Potter," he muttered sullenly, sounding for all the world like the Malfoy Harry knew and hated. Anger flared up suddenly in Harry.

"Oh, stop being so childish!" He snapped and spun away, stalking off to the other side of the room. He fumed in silence a few moments before something pale in the corner of his vision caught his eyes. He turned his head slightly.

It was the parchment envelope, lying on the table beside the bookcase. Something twisted inside Harry. He reached for the envelope, but hesistated, just like he had not a few minutes before.

"Just read it, Harry."

Harry turned his head to frown at Malfoy. "Don't order me around."

Draco was still standing by the window. A breeze blew the curtains gently; they flapped and blue evening light shone on his face. Even as he turned it away, Harry could see that he looked terrible. There were bags under his eyes. His whole face was a picture of weariness. "You need to read it, Potter," Draco insisted. "You can't keep denying the existence of the wizarding world."

"I'm doing no such thing," Harry grumbled. "I don't know who it's from. It could have a spell on it – it could be dangerous."

"At least it isn't a Howler," Draco smirked. "Though from the way your two best friends were feeling when I last saw them, I wouldn't be surprised if it was."

"You saw R- my friends?" Harry asked, astonished.

"A lot has happened since you went away."

"Apparently," he said drily. "You'd hardly believe it, but someone I'd thought was dead just turned up on my doorstep the other day! Talk about eventful."

Draco stepped back, as if Harry had punched him. His shadowed eyes widened perceptibly. "Just… read your letter, Harry." He managed. "Stop sniping at me. I'm booking into a hotel. Leave me be."

"You tell me to stop sniping!" Harry threw up his hands incredulously.

"Never mind, Potter. Just read the letter, please. It could be important."

Harry turned away from Draco, back to the envelope where it lay on the table; a rectangle of creamy parchment. He didn't even want to touch it.

He picked it up and flipped it over, moving to the window. Draco backed away, keeping a safe distance between them, but Harry ignored him. He was looking at the wax seal.

It was a simple seal – a gothic R stamped into dark red wax. Harry could think of a hundred meanings of an R. He set his jaw and slid his thumb under the flap, breaking the seal and R before he had time to overthink it. He would find out what was inside before collapsing with paranoia.

Nudging the curtains open a few more inches, Harry let the darkening day's light shine weakly onto him as he slipped the letter out of the envelope. Whereas the envelope had been tough, thick parchment, the letter was different. The letter was written on snow-white vellum, fine and delicate. The breath caught in Harry's throat as he unfolded it with his fingertips.

His stomach twisted as he took in the untidy, almost illegible scrawl. He couldn't recognise the handwriting, but that was hardly surprising. What was surprising was what the letter said.

Harry – 

_A mutual friend brings danger. Do not incur his wrath._

_R._

Harry looked up, his mind racing. The city was spread out in front of him, a jagged huddle of buildings beginning to light up for the night, but he didn't see it. His mind was too full of what he had just read.

It was astonishing how so few words could cause so much confusion. Who was this 'R'? And how on earth had they managed to find him? He turned the envelope in his hands. It said simply 'Mr H. J. Potter'. No address, no directions, no c/o.

And as for the mutual friend…

Harry turned back to the dark room, the letter held lightly in his hands. Draco was watching him, shrouded in shadow.

"Do you know anything about this letter, Draco?" His tone was blunt and accusing.

Draco's twisted into a contemptuous frown. "I know nothing about any letter, Potter."

Harry slipped the letter back into the envelope. "You know, Malfoy," he began, sounding more light-hearted than he felt. _Mutual friend?_ "When you talk like that, you sound just like…" He stopped, memories shouldering into his mind. Turning away from Draco, he muttered, "never mind."

"Just like who, Potter?" Within a few strides, Draco was looming over him. "Why won't you say their names?" Harry shuddered, feeling cold suddenly. The atmosphere had turned ugly within a few seconds. He tried to move away, but Draco caught him by the wrist.

The touch felt like an electric shock. Harry remembered the time, long ago, when his cousin had made him stick a fork into a plug socket. He had had to go to hospital. He had stopped breathing.

Harry's breath now caught in his throat, and he pressed himself back against the wall, wrenching his wrist out of Draco's grip. The other man's eyes were a flat grey, like a shark's. They seemed to know his very soul.

"Say their names," Draco said, his voice low and threatening. Harry shook his head.

"No," he choked out.

"Say them!" Draco pressed forward. Harry flattened himself against the wall as the letter fell from his senseless fingers. "Say them, or I will!"

Harry shook his head.

"Curse you, Harry Potter!" Draco whirled away, striding away a few paces before he came to a halt. Harry saw his shoulders slump, his head drooping. "Were you," Draco asked, without looking back, "going to say that I sounded like Snape?"

Harry gasped involuntarily, clenching his fists at his sides. _Snape…_ He took a step forward, his head swimming. _Snape!_ His legs felt weak. The room was spinning!

"Severus Snape…"

Was it him who had said that, or one of the voices from his past? As his legs buckled, in his rapidly fading vision he saw Draco turn and gape. It was coming on so fast!

He fell forwards as a wave of darkness hit him and took him under.

…

_Author's Note:_

_Hello there, fellow HPDM lovers. :) I'm in a bit of a good mood today, despite being a little fuzzy from getting hit over the head with a hammer via the internet. ;) _

_Anyway, just a bit of clarification. I do know that some of the actions and motivations in the story may seem a little fuzzy – why the hell Draco is actually there, for instance. Believe me, I've been trying to get Draco to reveal a little bit more over the past few chapters, but he's a stubborn git. There is a reason, and it will be revealed in all its glorious drama, but for the moment it should probably remain mysterious to further the suspense._

_As for confusion as to Harry's job, I can clear that up right away. Harry is working, as I soon hope to be doing after Tuesday's interview, as a cashier at a supermarket. It's a boring job – he swipes items through the checkout day in, day out. I might have him quit soon. It's even boring to write. If the Americans reading this (I assume there are some) are confused, sorry. It's been eight years since I was last in America, and I can't quite recall if supermarkets were called just that or something else. I was too busy concentrating on the Froot Loops._

_Gods, I miss Froot Loops._

_Jen_

_xox_


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** JKR owns the two sexy little minxes named Draco and Harry. I have a computer, a dog and a boyfriend called Simon. There is a difference.

…

Harry tried to open his eyes. They felt as if they were gummed together. His head was throbbing. He prised his lids apart and squinted into the darkness. He was grateful Draco hadn't turned the lights on.

"Harry?"

He grimaced, pain lancing through his head. "Draco?" He whispered.

"Yes." There was a silence. Harry waited for inevitable questions. They didn't come. Instead: "I found some muggle medication. Painkillers."

He turned his head. He was lying on the couch, a blur that was Draco crouched beside him. He was holding out a coloured box for Harry to take. Harry groaned.

"I'd honestly rather have some alcohol." He blinked, trying to focus on Draco's face. "Where are my glasses?"

"They're here." Draco put the box of painkillers down on the table and picked up something next to them, holding it out to Harry.

Harry tried to reach for his glasses, but his arms felt like lead. He managed to take the spectacles from Malfoy's hand with clumsy fingers and jammed them onto his face. "Thanks."

Draco came into a much sharper focus as he blinked determinedly at him. There seemed to be something wrong with the aristocratic features, as if he was an oil painting that the artist had carelessly brushed against. Harry frowned, tried to blink away the distortion.

"What is it, Potter?" The coldness in his voice was tangible, undercut by a half-hidden alarm. "What's wrong? Why are you staring at my face like that?"

Harry closed his eyes and pushed himself up into a sitting position. The world lurched sickeningly. He clamped a hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes tighter still.

When the nausea subsided, Harry opened his eyes. It was getting darker much more quickly now. He could barely make out any more than indistinct shapes in the room. He caught the gleam of Malfoy's eye as he turned his head. "Are you sure," he croaked, "we can't have the light on?"

"Your choice," Draco drawled, his voice disturbingly close. "I can see perfectly."

"What's wrong with your eyes, anyway?" Harry leant forward, squinting into Draco's face. It looked perfectly normal now, no trace of the strange blur from before. Draco recoiled slightly.

"My eyes are better than yours, at least, Potter. Turn the light on if you wish." He leaned back across the coffee table, almost merging with the darkness.

Harry stood up shakily, turning his back on Malfoy. Under any other circumstances, he would have found it rude that Draco didn't feel helpful enough to go and flip on the lightswitch for an ill person – was he ill? – but now it gave him time to think without unwittingly betraying anything to the other man. He didn't like his rival being able to see in the dark when he was effectively blind.

"Draco," he said, slowly making his way along the wall. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Ask away."

Harry steadied himself against the wall, pausing for a moment. He didn't look back. "What are you doing here?"

"I, Potter," came the deliberate reply, "or, should I say, Harry, am sitting on the coffee table."

Harry restrained himself from another angry retort. He sighed. "Draco, don't brush me off like that. Tell me. I have a right to know."

There was a long silence, filled only by the sighing of the wind against the window panes, punctuated by the distant hoot of the concussed owl. Harry breathed in darkness, waiting for a reply.

"Potter."

Harry started as Draco's breath ghosted across the skin of his neck, closer now than before. The hairs at the nape of his neck rose and he shuddered.

"What am I doing here?"

The breath on his neck was hot. Harry closed his eyes. He felt as if ice was threading through his veins. He had felt cold for a long time.

"Why are you so afraid, Harry?" Draco's long fingers curled around his upper arm, the touch tingling under Harry's t-shirt. "There's a new note of wariness in your voice that wasn't there before."

The throbbing in Harry's head renewed itself. "I'm not afraid of you, Malfoy," he said with as much bravery as he could muster. "I just want to know why you're here. Why won't you tell me?"

"You're not afraid of me?" Draco asked softly, ignoring the question. "I think you should be. My name," his voice swelled with Slytherin pride, "is _Draco Malfoy_."

Harry closed his eyes and clenched his fists, the pain in his head increasing. Draco hadn't been like this before. He had been almost ashamed to own to the name Malfoy. Was that a sharp twinge where his faded scar still hid under his hair? He couldn't be afraid. He wasn't afraid. "I'm not afraid of you," he repeated. "I know who you are. You're Draco Malfoy. I'm not afraid of you." He swallowed, then went on. He could still feel the hot, threatening breaths on his neck. "I faced down Voldemort-"

Agony seared red hot through his scar, and Harry cried out in pain. He sunk to his knees, clapping his hands across his forehead. _No!_ He rocked back and forth, cradling his head in his hands, Malfoy forgotten. It throbbed, each wave sending diminishing flares of pain through his head.

_But he's dead! He's _dead

Harry whimpered, the pain in his head lessening slowly. As the roar of blood in his ears died, he became increasingly aware of Draco's presence beside him.

He turned his head.

Draco was knelt beside him, a cascade of pale hair distinguishing him from the darkness and hiding his shadowed face. He was as motionless as a statue. Harry shivered. The only part of him that felt warm was his scar, which burned with pain.

"Malfoy."

Draco looked up, a refraction of the day's last light catching his deathly pale face. "Yes?"

"Could you please get me those painkillers, and a glass of water?"

Draco nodded and Harry closed his eyes again, dimly hearing the '_accio_' charm being uttered beside him.

"Thank you."

"I told you, Harry," Draco's voice sounded more gentle than he had heard it in over half a decade. "Any time."

…

_Author's Note:_

_Thanks again for the reviews, guys. You're really inspiring. Keep 'em coming, I love to read them. _

_Just a small warning, though – I may not be able to post a chapter a day any more. I'll still try, but now the homework is coming thick and fast and this fanfic is taking up quite a bit of time. I don't want to get ejected from my courses, or lose my band or my friends. I almost didn't make it today, and I'm sacrificing homework time for it. _

_I'll try to make it no more than a single day that goes by without a chapter, but things out of my control may occur. I love you all, and will continue to try and update for you. 'Kay? Groovy._

_Also – just a small plug – November approaches, as does NaNoWriMo. If anyone reading this does NaNo, they'll realise what's involved. For those who don't, NaNo is a month-long writing challenge that I've taken part in and won unfailingly since 2003. I'm hoping to do the same this year. To 'win' is to write 50,000 original words in the month of November. This fanfic is an amazingly good warm up! But if this fic is still going by then (gods, I hope not), I probably won't be able to write it._

_But come on – one chapter a day for 31 days? Eek!_

_If you want to know more (I may be flattering myself and the pull of 50k there), feel free to email me. Hell, email me anyway! I like hearing from people. :)_

_Jen_

_xox_


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** All is under the dominion of JKR. Gods preserve her and all who sail in her.

…

Harry settled down on the couch in the gentle ambience of a green lava lamp and sighed with a semblance of content. The pain in his head was gone, numbed into submission with alcohol and muggle medicine. He wouldn't let Draco come anywhere near his head with a wand. He didn't trust the treacherous sticks any more.

"It's getting late," he began, turning to where Draco sat, his eyes constantly flickering to the lava lamp. "You should go if you're planning to find a hotel that isn't completely booked for the night."

Draco lounged easily in a stiff armchair a safe distance away from Harry, his blonde hair falling in smooth waves over his shoulders. Despite the family resemblance, though, he looked very little like his father. There was none of the pedigree self-assuredness in his demeanour, no honour of ancient blood to make him arrogant. He reminded Harry of someone he had known a long time ago. He had the same haunted look as a wise lycanthrope once wore.

"I want to talk to you, Harry." His voice sounded hollow and tired. Harry bit his lip.

"You didn't seem to want to talk when _I_ was asking the questions."

"You scratch my back," Draco sniffed, "maybe I'll scratch yours."

"Very business like." Harry inhaled deeply and stretched his legs under the coffee table, enjoying being able to move without pain. He wasn't sure he wanted to answer Draco's questions.

"Tell me," Draco forged ahead, narrowing his eyes to slits of interrogative silver. "Tell me about these blackouts."

"Don't give me that look," Harry looked away, at the bare floorboards, before he caught the familiarity in his own tone and glanced back, his eyes wide. _Had Draco noticed?_ He shrugged to himself. It was no big deal. One slip in the façade. Just one little drop of the barriers. "The blackouts," he stated flatly.

"Tell me."

"Why should I?" He sounded childish, but Harry didn't care. "Tell me, Draco Malfoy, why it's any of your regal business?" There was a silence. The tension seemed to stretch between them, like a live wire pulled taut. Harry remembered how electric Draco's touch had felt and sighed. "All right," he conceded.

"All right what?" Draco sounded startled.

"All right," Harry repeated without looking up at him. "I'll scratch your back. I'll tell you about the blackouts." He kept his eyes trained carefully on the floor, lit eerie green by the lava lamp. He didn't want any rebel spark of that electricity leaping between them. He didn't want to meet Draco's gaze. "But I don't know much."

"So tell me," Draco began, sounding pensive, "what do you see?"

"See?" Harry jerked, fighting to keep from looking up. "How do you know I see anything?"

"Harry," the voice came softly. "You keep your eyes glued open for the entire thing. You don't even blink."

Harry shuddered at the thought. He didn't want to picture his own livid green eyes, wide and staring blankly. "So I see things." He closed his eyes momentarily, hunching his shoulders. "I'm not crazy, Malfoy."

"That remains to be seen." The lazy drawl sounded so much like a certain ex-professor's that Harry felt almost sick. "Don't stall. You need to be frank with me."

"Oh, why the hell should I?" Harry finally looked up, and was immediately caught and pierced by the intensity of Draco's silver glare. "If you must know," he continued weakly, "I see things from the past. My past." He gathered himself up on the couch, as if drawing his reserves of strength together. Malfoy's gaze felt like it was boring him through. "And if you must know, you started it."

"I?" Draco's eldritch gaze faltered – he blinked – and failed. "What do you mean?"

"Not completely," Harry hastened to correct himself. "But since you came, it comes so much more frequently."

"And what," Draco began, his voice sounding much smaller and less confident than it had before. "What did you see last time? When I mentioned Sn- when I mentioned _him_."

Harry twisted his hands together and looked down at his lap. "I saw…"

"Well?"

He could only remember snatches of what he had seen. It had seemed so real at the time, as if he had been plunged back into his past, back to school again. Now it felt like nothing more than a dream, slipping through his fingers as fast as he tried to capture it. Like quicksilver, when he tried to snatch a piece of a memory, it would fade away, chasing itself around his head.

"I don't remember what I saw." It was only partially a lie – Harry had forgotten most of it almost immediately. What he remembered just didn't bear repeating.

He wasn't sure if Draco believed him or not, but he kept his head bowed, dark hair falling over his face and hiding it from view.

"All right, then." Harry heard Draco stand up, the armchair's old wooden skeleton creaking noisily. Quiet footsteps padded across the room.

"Wait," Harry started up, leaping to follow him. "Where are you going?"

"Exactly where you told me to go." Draco turned his head, turbulent eyes striking Harry dumb. "A hotel."

"Are… are you sure?" Harry faltered, biting his lip. Couldn't he ever make up his mind? "You could stay here tonight if you like."

"I don't want to be any trouble, Harry," Draco unfurled his cloak and fastened it around his shoulders. "If it's any consolation," he turned to look Harry squarely in the eye. Harry shivered. He could read nothing in those mysterious silver irises. "If it's anything at all to you; I feel the same way. About this second chance, I mean. I don't want to ruin this chance to get to know you again."

Harry stared at Draco, unsure. Could it be true? "Sometimes I wonder if you're secretly a woman."

"What?"

"With the mood swings and all." He attempted a smile.

Draco grinned uncertainly. "That's unbelievably sexist, Potter." He gave a short bark of a laugh. "And," he added, "you know for a fact that I'm not a woman."

Harry felt the blood rush to his face, his cheeks burning. He laid the backs of his hands against them as Draco squared his shoulders. "Are you sure about this?"

"My mind is perfectly set." Draco allowed him a ghost of a smile. "Good bye, Harry. I'll see you again." Harry opened his mouth to ask him why he even cared about Harry's blackouts, but before he could utter a syllable Draco disappeared with a deafening crack.

…

_Author's Note:_

_Wow. It feels odd not to be be in constant correspondence with you guys (aka posting a chapter a day). I sort of miss the immediacy._

_Oh well._

_Thank you, as ever, to my loyal reviewers. What on earth would I do without you?_

_I will try to post a new chapter tomorrow, but, as ever, I can't promise anything. Right after I've put this one up on the site, I'm departing upstairs to bed with the laptop and as long as I'm not interrupted too early I might be able to churn out half a chapter or so, which would put me almost back on track._

_Thanks, everyone!_

_Jen_

_xox_


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** Tengo nada. Todos para JKR. Gods, bad Spanish!

Author's Note: I apologise in advance for any typos or errors of continuity or elsewise that I may have made in this chapter. I've barely edited it – I just finished it so that I could post it tonight. Now I'm going to bed. Goodnight

…

The next time Harry saw Draco, a week had gone by and he was on his lunch break. The grey bowl of the sky, pierced in places by distant skyscrapers, rumbled occasionally with threatening thunder. The storm that had broken on the day of Draco's mysterious arrival still lingered, sending shoppers scurrying for the shelter of cafés and supermarkets with every little scurry of rain across the sidewalks.

Harry was crushing the remains of a cigarette filter into the ground when a flash of white lightning illuminated the world starkly. Harry looked up, past the hulking supermarket, into the sky as a crack of thunder shattered the quiet. He reached into his pocket for his lighter and cigarettes. The storm was still close by.

He was holding the little flame to the end of the long cigarette between his lips when he became, graually, aware of a presence behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, standing on end. Harry shrugged his shoulders to try and disperse the feeling and inhaled smoke. He turned around.

He almost didn't realise that it was Malfoy. The person standing calmly in front of him, lounging against a lamp post, was defined by the sharp lines of a black and white muggle suit, his long, pale face obscured by a pair of huge black shades. Harry goggled at him.

"Hey," he said, resisting a grin that was trying to invade his face. "It's the men in black."

Draco cocked his head questioningly, the massive glasses reflecting the storm-light and making him look like a well-groomed insect.

"Never mind, it's a muggle thing," Harry shrugged, biting his lip. Internally, he was warring with himself over what to say, how to greet the man standing so casually in front of him. His spleen felt like it was made of jelly. "So," he began awkwardly, "what.. I mean, how- how are you?" He flushed immediately, sensing the absurdity of the question. _A Malfoy never admits weakness, ever,_ he thought, wondering which of his Jekyll and Hyde moods he was in today.

"I'm.." Draco seemed to consider the platitude, turning his face to the sky. His black lenses reflected the clouds. "I'm all right, I believe." He straightened his tie and coughed. As if on cue, Harry tugged his company shirt straight and dropped his cigarette ashamedly.

"I don't normally smoke," he explained. "Just sometimes when the stress, y'know, gets to me."

"What do you mean?" Draco seemed puzzled. Harry shook his head.

"Never mind." He ground out the butt with his heel and looked sideways at Malfoy. "What are you doing here? And how did you find out where I work, anyway?" He heard how belligerent he sounded and regretted it immediately. Draco fixed him with an inscrutable stare from behind his sunglasses, blonde hair falling over his shoulders.

"I wanted to talk to you," he admitted, tracing a pattern on the sidewalk with a polished shoe. "Just to talk."

"I'm on my lunch break, Draco."

"I know." He half-smiled. "We have time for a chat over a mug of tea."

Harry laughed aloud at hearing the words leave Draco's mouth. They made him sound so.. so human! Draco's eyebrows disappeared behind his shades in a frown. "Okay, okay," Harry placated him. "Let's go. We have half an hour. I know a good place close by."

…

Everything went well until they were crossing the dripping square to the café's double doors. They walked in silence through the chattering crowds of shoppers, passing seated businessmen in grey suits, munching on white bread sandwiches.

Draco made Harry stop so he could admire the old fountain in the centre of the plaza – a black marble fish gurgled water over scales patched with a green film of algae. He took off his sunglasses and stared at the smooth beauty of it without saying a word until Harry nudged him gently. "Draco," he said softly, and the other man started, as if breaking from a trance.

"Isn't it amazing, Harry?" He said in awe. "That muggles can do this kind of thing, and make it so… so perfect."

"Draco, we have to go. The café, remember?"

"I remember."

As Harry hopped lightly up the few stone steps removing the café from the street, Draco close behind him, the ominous clouds grumbled and a heavy raindrop struck him on the neck and rolled under his collar. Harry yelped as the icy cold water inched down his back. As Draco raised his eyebrows curiously, the beginnings of a rain shower began to patter down all over the square. Ripple rings were born and died in seconds in the pool under the fish fountain. As Harry watched, thick drops began to fall, blurring his glasses, wetting his hair.

Even as he took off his glasses, plunging the world into a mess of colour and shapes, he heard the lunchtime shoppers begin to squeal. Draco called his name as he was pushed back roughly against the café window by a big, fuzzy crowd.

"Draco?" He was jostled out of the way by scurrying crowds. Harry wiped his glasses messily on his shirt and jammed them back onto his face as a shopper pushed him from behind. He fell forward, stumbling. Others shouldered past him. He fought through them, heading back towards the square. He tried to crane over the heads as somebody pushed him backwards. He fell.

Strong arms caught him, held him. They dragged him backwards and up, setting him on his feet again. Harry swayed, grabbing the lapels of his rescuer as he turned around.

He looked up into the face of Draco Malfoy, who smiled. "Let's get out of here."

Harry held on tightly to Draco's sleeve, crumpling the fabric in his fist, as he was led out of the fray, into the rain.

It was coming down full pelt now, grey stair-rods penetrating every layer. The fountain was awash, water spilling over the sides of the basin and slopping into the paving stones below. Draco caught Harry's wrist and dragged him out into the middle of the square, his face split in a wide grin. Harry stared at him incredulously.

"I love the rain," Draco laughed, long hair already plastered to his head and neck. "It's such a release!" He held out his arms, his expensive suit jacket sopping wet.

Harry had seen two sides to Draco since he had appeared on his doorstep three days ago. He had not, however, seen this before. Ever.

The water was everywhere – soaking through his trousers, his thin work shirt already saturated. The rain was running down his back, freezing cold. It was blurring his glasses beyond visibility. Harry thought wistfully of the Impervius Charm and removed them, stowing them in his soggy pocket.

The world was a mess of monochrome. Draco laughed in front of him, a blotch of black and white against the grey. Harry stood still, feeling the rainwater running everywhere over his skin, dripping from his fingertips.

"What the hell are we doing out here, Malfoy?" He shouted over Draco's laughter.

"Lighten up, Harry!" Draco cried, chuckling. He drew closer. "Live life."

"Are you on drugs?" Harry glared at the two-tone shape in front of him. "It's freezing and wet!"

Draco just laughed again and lunged forward, catching Harry by the wrists. "Feel it!" He held Harry's arms out stiffly from his sides, like his own. "It's such a release," he explained happily, pulling Harry closer to him.

At this range, Harry's eyesight was better. He could almost make out Draco's face as if he were wearing his glasses. He stepped closer, until their sopping bodies were only a few inches apart and peered up into his face. "Are you insane?"

"Maybe," Draco said thoughtfully. Harry shivered. His pupils looked frighteningly black against the pale silver and white of his eyes. "But it's a good kind of insane, a sort that doesn't last for long. It'll last only as long as the rain does." He spontaneously burst out into an attack of violent guffaws that bent him over, clutching his sides. Harry touched the shoulder of his suit; wet against wet.

Draco straightened. Harry looked up into silver-black eyes. Draco looked like an old silver screen star, Harry realised. His sharply cut suit, his monochrome figure, his lightness of build – he reminded Harry of Fred Astaire.

"Do you dance?" He asked abruptly. Draco looked taken aback, then childishly delighted.

"On occasion. Can you see?"

"Well enough to dance," Harry grinned, Draco's enthusiasm infectious. _Am I going mad?_ He held out his hand to Draco; he felt the warmth of the slender hand, slippery with rain. No electric shock. Just perfect _rightness_.

Harry moved into Draco's light touch as he rested his hand on Harry's hip to guide him. They whirled through a blurry wonderland of grey: Harry saw nothing but Draco's face, close enough to distinguish each fine, sculpted feature as it smiled down at him.

"The people in the café are watching us," Draco said, his face curving with a smile.

"Let them watch," Harry replied. "I can't see them."

"Harry," Draco began, as they glided dizzyingly across the plaza, as the rain continued to thunder down. "Why are we-"

"Don't ask," Harry cut him off, tightening his tentative grip on Draco's soaking wet body. "Just dance."

They danced.

They spun about the square, around and around the fish fountain as it faded into and out of Harry's fuzzy vision. The rain still poured down from the tempestuous heavens, where the clouds boiled darkly, soaking them to the skin. The water in the basins danced.

When, panting and with aching legs, they came to a final halt, Harry couldn't think of anything to say. He didn't know why he had asked Draco to dance – he could hardly believe it! What was he thinking? He stared up at him and saw only a blur. He couldn't tell if Draco was thinking the same thing he was.

Harry stepped forward, emboldened by the awkward silence filled only with the rain and the faint clink of crockery from the café. He reached out a hand to grasp Draco's sleeve.

"What are these?" He asked, feeling the hard, angular lumps. "Are they cufflinks?" Draco looked down at him.

"Yes," he said quietly. He examined his other cuff. "They are." He flashed the silver and emerald at Harry briefly. If Harry didn't know better, he could have sworn that he was embarrassed. Draco gazed at the cufflinks quietly. "Slytherin colours. From my god-father."

Harry didn't know what he was doing, but he found himself moving closer. The monochrome blur gradually resolved itself, edges defining, the wicked silver eyes downcast. He felt a twinge of something – what? – in his chest and before he knew how to stop himself he had wrapped his arms around the soaking Slytherin. Draco inhaled sharply, looking up into Harry's eyes. His mouth made to form words.

Harry silenced him by pressing his lips against Draco's.

His head spun, and he clung onto Draco. He tasted like green tea and vanilla and something different and unidentifiable. He smelt like oranges. Electric tingles shivered through his body, fiery, itchy. Harry pulled away, breathing hard, to stare desperately into Draco's eyes for some hope of redemption. _Please, please forgive me… I said I didn't want to waste this chance! Did I just ruin it?_

Draco gazed back, something frightening in his eyes so close. Was that a glint of green, a tiny shard of glittering emerald there in his irises that Harry could see? Draco seemed to notice what Harry was searching for and blinked hard. He pushed Harry away roughly; Harry stumbled back.

"No," Draco shook his head, no more than a black and white smudge now. "Please, don't, Harry." He staggered, turned, and slipped, racing away; a fading figure in a gloom of grey.

…

_Author's Note:_

_Wow. This ended up being longer than I thought it would be. Suitable for Chapter Ten, I suppose. I wanted to have the dramatic kiss in this chapter, but I didn't think I could make it. I guess that proves me wrong!_

Thank you, you wonderful reviewers! Please keep it up – you're the reason I'm up so late, writing this bloody thing when I could be curled up in bed with my boyfriend. :P Not that I begrudge you the time; this is good practice for NaNo. 

_I think tomorrow you may get another super-duper-bumper-wow-special-extended-edition chapter, it being Friday and all. Depends on whether or not my social life comes a-calling._

_Well, until next time, au revoir!_

_Jen_

_xox_


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** Draco is not mine. Only the gratuitously convoluted plot belongs to me.

_Author's Note: here is a short, one-off, 3rd-person-Draco-POV chapter for you on Friday. :) Enjoy!_

…

In the deep shadows of a cold stone doorway Draco finally stopped running. He collided with a carved pillar and held on, fighting back sobs. He had thrown off his jacket streets back, left it lying in a puddle. His thin cotton shirt was soaked through, stuck to his skin with rain and cold sweat. Still it rained, freezing water spewing down from on high, as if the gods were crying.

_There are no gods!_

Draco rested his forehead against the cool stone, his face burning. He couldn't let Potter find him here, like this. He barely had himself under control as it was. He cursed himself, his fingernails splintering as his hands clenched against the stone. How could he not have seen it coming? Dancing in the rain!

"_I don't want to waste this chance…"_

Draco didn't want to waste it, either. But he couldn't let himself endanger Harry.

Letting go of the pillar, he slipped wetly to the ground. The coldness burned through his trousers, chilling his legs. His nose prickled, tears welling in his eyes. Dancing in the rain…

He could remember every precious moment of the kiss. The Boy Who Lived tasted of that strange muggle smoke, and American coffee. Had he changed so much since Hogwarts?

Now he thought about it, Draco couldn't remember if he had ever kissed Harry at Hogwarts. He curled his lip in disgust. Just used him, he thought, remembering. Just used him for sex, for a plaything.

But hadn't he- hadn't he _loved_ Harry? Wasn't it out of love – Draco choked on a sob, shaking his head violently – that he did what he did for him, that final night?

Draco didn't know, hadn't known, why he had done what he did. Many said it was out of a underhanded Slytherin desire to take the golden boy's glory that he had cast those spells, stolen that night. Perhaps it was. He could remember the unfamiliar, catching feeling, like a snag at the back of his chest.

Why had he saved Harry's life?

He had never known he had it in him.

He wiped his nose across his hand, his face feeling rubbery and wet. He didn't know where he was going to go. Something caught on his chin; he felt with his numb fingers for the painful corner on his sleeve.

The cufflinks. The expensive cufflinks Severus had bought for him but days before the end of the war. He still had his dark side, Draco knew. Now, it was more solid than ever. The darkness was less transient and fleeting. He had to keep Harry away from it.

The boy wonder must have seen it! Draco put his head in his hands, hiding his treacherous eyes from the stormy world. He must have seen the evil in his eyes, it must have frightened him.

He shook with silent tears, the wetness running over his hands and dripping onto his knees like the rain fell out on the streets.

…

_Author's Note:_

_What did you think? Keep reviewing, please. I love you for it. _

_Didn't have the time or energy for a super-huge chapter today, folks. Doubt I'll have time tomorrow, as I intend to go shopping. And then I have two Ethics essays to complete for Tuesday… Well, I'll see what I can do._

_Fifespice – I can give you those 'hints' on Harry's muggle lifestyle right now, and for anyone else who I didn't make it clear to. Harry doesn't use magic because if he did, he would disturb the HP equivalent of 'the Force' and the magical paparazzi would know exactly where he was, and apparate straight to him. _

_Thanks again, you guys! And a special shout-out to Anja, who should be reading this. Hey, sweetie!_

_Jen_

_xox_


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** Tengo nada.

…

Harry waited in the rain for a second time for Draco, a leaden, sick feeling in his gut that grew with every passing minute. He sat on the edge of the fountain, when he found it, water constantly spilling over the edge of the basin and filling his shoes up with water. He didn't care that he hadn't gone back to work. Something in the back of his mind knew that Janet would fire him, but he could deal with that… someday. He couldn't see too far into the future now.

He waited. The sickening feeling was rising up his body, settling in his throat. His glasses were useless – almost as bad as his vision in the pouring rain. He could only see a grey blur of a city world, the occasional dark stalk passing fuzzily across his line of sight. No one came near him.

At last, the rain began to lighten. Harry felt it, shivering with cold, and looked up blindly into a grey-white sky. He wrapped his arms around himself, hunched over. The raindrops were less heavy and dense, the noise on the water of the fountain quietening rapidly. Just as quickly as it had come, the storm was passing.

As the wind threw spasmodic heavy showers across the plaza, Harry percieved a spectral shape at the edge of his field of vision. He looked up, blinking ineffectively at the figure. Despite it all, despite the cold lead in his belly, he felt a pale flame of hope. _Draco?_

"Harry," Draco's voice floated to him quietly, as if in answer to his mental plea.

"What do you want?" Harry croaked with a ferocity that surprised himself. He balled his hands into fists by his sides.

"I'm sorry I left," the ghostlike figure said, advancing a little closer and sharpening in focus. "I am so sorry." His voice was heavy with penitence. Harry fought down a tiny flare of sympathy.

"Your choice," he said, sniffing. He attempted to sound indifferent, but his fingernails were digging into his palms. "Your funeral, Malfoy."

"Your glasses," said Draco, and Harry glared at him. "You can put your glasses on now," Draco explained, his voice thick. Harry uncurled his hands. The tension between them was palpable. A gust of cold wind blew a little shower of rain over them. Draco remained staring at Harry as he adjusted the glasses on his face with trembling fingers and looked up.

"Why," Harry began, before taking a deep breath. "Why did you go?" Draco came into perfect focus as he blinked the gumminess away. Harry inhaled sharply. The red rims around Draco's eyes spoke volumes, and he had lost his suit jacket somewhere. No more was Draco Malfoy immaculate and untouchable.

"That's why I'm sorry," he said stiffly, raw eyes burning through Harry's soul. "I left because…" He stopped and shook his head as if he was being bothered by a gnat. "It's complicated."

"Fuck it, Malfoy!" Harry shouted, anger flaring brilliantly and dying down as rapidly. He took a deep breath. "So you don't need to tell me. You don't know me. But it's not as if you have any closer friends," he sneered. Draco's delicate lip quivered visibly and Harry felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Harry," he repeated. He paused, looked down at the puddles on the ground. His face contorted as if he were struggling to contain something. Harry watched him, torn between curiosity and irrational anger. "I just," Draco blurted finally, his voice strained. He kept his wild eyes on the paving stones between them. "I just wanted to protect you!"

Harry clenched his hands on the rim of the basin, cold water spilling over his fingers. _Wanted to protect me?_ He remembered the kiss so clearly now; Draco's soft lips on his, the strange-yet-familiar taste of him… Protect him? His head swum and he felt a shudder run down his spine as he realised how cold he was. _Draco must be the same_, he thought, shivering. "Protect me?"

Draco nodded rigidly, his eyes still lowered. It was more unlike the old Malfoy than Harry had ever seen.

"What from?" he asked carefully, fighting the memories that were rushing back in a flood of emotion. He sniffed hard, wiping a hand jerkily across his face. He gritted his teeth. "Why are you always trying to protect me?"

For once, in the white light after the storm, the frightening darkness wasn't lapping at the shores of his consciousness. Harry stared at Draco, remembering the last night at Hogwarts. "You had to try and save me, didn't you?" He said, his voice sounding bitter. Draco didn't look up. "Why?" He forced the words out. "Why did you think I wasn't good enough to face Voldemort?" Harry clapped a hand to his forehead as a bolt of pain shot through his scar. It wasn't nearly as bad as before. He thanked the heavens.

Draco shook his head, refusing to meet Harry's eyes. He hadn't noticed Harry's momentary lapse. "It wasn't that."

"Then what the fuck was it?" Harry snapped.

Draco looked up with a calm intensity that almost overwhemed him, the unbridled emotions boiling in his eyes ripping into Harry. "Because I loved you."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He was now the one to break his gaze away from Draco's. "You're still protecting me," he muttered.

"Perhaps I still love you."

Harry froze, his hand slipping into the cold water in the stone basin._ He's lying!_ He tried to speak, but his throat would not form sounds. He didn't dare look up at Draco. He could feel his presence just a few paces away, overwhelmingly human and soft. _Flesh and bone_, he reminded himself. _A Malfoy is not made of marble._

"But," Draco began again, audibly regaining control over his voice. "I wouldn't bet on it." Harry choked at his sneer, a wave of nausea threatening to overcome him. He turned his back on Draco and tried to regain his breath discreetly, bent over the water. He could feel the spray from the fountain on his face. His cheeks were flushed and hot.

"What, then," he forced out, his eyes closed, "are you protecting me from?" He wanted to change the subject, talk about anything but this. _Love?_

"Harry," Draco said, and Harry felt the familiar electric tingles shimmer down his spine. "I need your help," he sighed.

…

_Author's Note:_

_Hello, old beans! Yes, I'm still in good spirits. I know this has been the longest gap between updating chapters, but I've really been rushed off my feet. I'm trying to deal with college really getting into full swing, working on my new comic (comic! How childish! ;), writing this fic, attempting to have a social life and a boyfriend, preparing for NaNo – that involves plotting for my original work during November and, ahem, procrastinating a little on the forums. I also have another HPDM fanfic idea taking over my mind… I might be able to get started on that soon, and will plug it to you as soon as I can. Anyway, I apologise for the gap._

_And, once again, I apologise for the quality of writing in this chapter. Just wrote it and am really not in the mood to edit. All I've done is gone through without looking at it, double-spacing the paragraphs and adding the disclaimer and author's note. I'm more concerned with not having my head hacked off with a wooden spoon by my reviwers for keeping you in suspense than the quality of the writing and for that, I'm sorry. When I have more time on my hands, I'll start writing better, longer chapters. _

_From this point on, things start to move more quickly than they previously have done. Promise:D_

_Jen_

_xox_


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** Everything here belongs to either J K Rowling or Robert Frost. Yay for them for creating such wonderful characters and poetry respectively.   
…   
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep 

_But I have promises to keep_

_And miles to go before I sleep_

_And miles to go before I sleep."_

- from 'Passing By Woods On A Snowy Evening' by Robert Frost

"Hah!" Harry laughed, wiping a few spits of rain from his glasses carelessly. "And I thought you were here to see me. _You want help?_ That's all? I should've guessed." He didn't care that his voice sounded bitter and accusatory. He didn't care that Draco looked as if Harry had just hit him, blinking a suspicious wetness in his eyes away. What he had said was still spinning in Harry's mind. _I wouldn't bet on it…_ "You never loved me, did you? You're such a typical Slytherin. You got everything you wanted: sex and glory." He sneered, half turning away.

Draco grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, his eyes wild and dangerous. Harry felt a shudder down his spine despite himself. "Don't say that," Draco hissed, his face just inches away from Harry's. "Don't you _dare_ say that." His voice was low and deceptively soft. "I loved you, you idiot. Why do you have to keep bringing up the past?" He let go of Harry's shoulder roughly, pushing him back. Harry staggered, falling against the edge of the basin. "We're not in school any more. I'm not a Slytherin any more!"

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry spat.

"Grow up, Potter."

There was a long silence in which Harry avoided Draco's burning eyes. He didn't want to see anything in them. He remembered the last time – the emerald fleck in the iris – and bowed his head. The colour green haunted Voldemort's presence.

"All right," he said, taking a steadying breath. "What is it you want, Malfoy? What help?" He looked up and was barely prepared for the Draco he saw before him. Pale and trembling, his hands hung by his sides. He was looking at Harry helplessly, the animosity and fury erased as if it had never been there. The air between them felt like treacle. Harry wanted to step forward, extend the first hand. He wanted things to be as they were before they kissed. He cursed himself silently for that mistake, but didn't move.

"Harry," Draco sighed, sounding defeated. "I have a little problem." His shoulders slumped as he bowed his head. "Please, let's go somewhere else. My hotel. Your flat." He looked up at Harry again, his eyes pale and flat. There was no trace of anything Other. "It's cold."

"No." Harry clenched his fists. He was cold, but he would not give Malfoy this. He didn't want to bring this foul business back to pollute his home. "Whatever you have to say to me, say it here. Then we part ways."

"But Harry," Draco took a step towards Harry, holding out his hands. "I need your help!"

"We'll see." Harry looked away, across the square. People were moving again, venturing out from the cafés and shops in which they had taken shelter. Raincoated shoppers traversed the streets again. Soon the dripping plaza would be busy. "And make it quick." When he stopped pretending to not care, Draco's words about love came back to sting his heart. He grit his teeth and willed himself to be cold.

Draco seemed to be struggling with something. His eyes looked far away. His fists clenched and unclenched by his sides. "Harry," he began, "you have a reputation for being exceptional at defence against the dark arts."

"Naturally," was Harry's short reply.

"There are none better than you."

"There are plenty better than me, Malfoy. Get to your point."

Draco took a step as if he were about to begin pacing, but pulled himself up short. Harry couldn't help noticing that he was chewing his lip and was quietly surprised. Sometimes, it seemed as if the man hadn't changed at all, and other times…

"Harry, I need your help with a dark arts matter."

"No," he said. "I won't help you with whatever unthinkable thing you're doing these days." Harry tilted his head and looked down his nose at Malfoy. "If you thought I would, you're more stupid than I ever gave you credit for."

Draco stared at Harry for a moment before shaking his head. "Are you ever going to listen to me, Potter?" His voice was quiet and resigned, as if he knew asking such a question was pointless. He looked suddenly very small and normal, his shirt stuck to his skin, eyes dull. It was as if he had shrunk from being Draco Malfoy to being just another person. Harry's heart ached. He wanted to take Draco in his arms again. _But you don't love me…_ _You never did._

"I'm listening, Draco," he said softly, taking a step towards him. "I'm listening now."

"Don't hold it against me," Draco said. "I was afraid. I only wanted to protect you."

"Why? From your 'little problem'?"

"Yes," his voice was suddenly harsh and Harry flinched. "I only wanted to protect you, Harry. From me." He looked away and spoke through gritted teeth. "From my curse."

"Curse?" Harry whispered. He couldn't move. He only wanted to be close to Draco, to breathe in the cool scent of his skin.

The anger, the tension was rolling off Draco in waves. "I'm cursed, Harry," he murmured. He was close enough now that Harry could feel the heat from his soaked body. "Cursed, for the rest of my days. With no cure." He turned his eyes away.

Harry stared at his lips. Soft, delicate. Pale, like the rest of him. He missed Draco. "What do you mean?" He said to stop himself from kissing Draco's lips. "What do you mean, cursed?"

"Don't tell anyone, Harry," Draco's hand gripped Harry's arm convulsively. "No one knows. Not even…" he trailed off, and Harry glanced down at his cufflinks. "Yes. Not even him."

"Have you seen him?" Harry asked, looking down at Draco's hand where it clutched his work shirt. No electric tingles this time. Just a wet, dark feeling. "Since the end of the war?"

"Once or twice." Draco shrugged, releasing Harry. "I visited him in Azkaban, just before he broke out. The prison's useless now, without the Dementors."

Harry felt as if there was ice seeping through his veins. His head felt light. _He broke out of Azkaban?_ When had that happened? How long ago? He could be coming for him! He could be coming now! And Draco cursed? Maybe by _him_! He felt hands on his shoulders, gripping him firmly, and swallowed.

"…Harry?"

Draco was saying his name.

"Harry, come back."

He could feel the darkness, its intrusive tendrils fingering his brain. He didn't want to give in to it! Draco's face was in front of him, his eyes silver and deep. _Don't give in…_ He didn't want to go back again. He had lived through it once, he didn't need another flashback!

"Harry, I love you!"

He was jolted immediately back to the present. Staring into Draco's eyes, he stopped breathing. "What did you say?" Seconds ticked by, stretching like hours. Tiny, wet raindrops fell. "Draco?"

Draco attempted a weak chuckle. "I thought that would get your attention." His attempted smile fell flat in the face of Harry's stony expression.

Without saying a word, Harry brushed past Draco and started walking away. He kept his back turned, shoulders hunched, as Draco called to him. _If you loved me, you'd follow me._ The calls got fainter as Harry strode away, seeing nothing. Rain was beginning to fall again. Cold, wet drops penetrated his damp shirt easily, chilling his skin. He felt dead. Rain dripped from his hair. Salty droplets welled behind his glasses. He was numb.

He didn't know where his steps directed him after Draco's calls fell into a deathly silence. Harry could hear nothing. Not even the cars that purred silently by, ploughing through puddles and soaking him further. Rain deadened everything, the colour bleeding out of the city. Grey sky, grey streets. He found himself on the railway bridge over the river.

The water below, confined by concrete and steel, was black. The raindrops made ripple-circles on its surface. It was like a drowning pool. Harry leaned over the rusty beams, hanging his upper body out over the water. _I'm such a fool._

He thought about falling into the water, his pockets laden with stones. Sinking deep into the bone-numbing cold, the darkness, dying, dying… His head spun and Harry leaned back, gripping the cold metal as he closed his eyes.

A train thundered by, breaking the silence. It roared deafeningly, the screaming of metal on metal and the shriek of gears filling up the whole world, and Harry. He staggered backwards as he let go of the metal, eyes wide. He threw himself sideways, out of the streaming wind of the speeding train and onto the ground beside the rushing wheels. He put his head in his arms, tears of fear and love leaking into his shirt. He felt like a child, cowering.

The train was gone again, leaving behind it a gaping wide space and the hum of the electricity on the rails. Harry looked up, along the railway. He could see his apartment building from here. The spires of the city rose beyond it, silver and grey, glinting in the rain light.

He wouldn't give up yet. Slowly, he stood up, scraping the mud from his clothes as if in a daze. He sighed resignedly.

He froze when a chillingly familiar voice spoke behind him.

"Mr Potter."

Harry's blood ran cold. He turned to find himself looking up into a face as pale as death framed by greasy dark locks.

"Good afternoon, Mr Potter," Snape said.

…

_Author's Note:_

_Once more, I come before you bearing bad prose. I apologise._

_But to my reviewers, yet another thank you, and an 'I love you'! makes eyes at 'bookworm You can't just leave me hanging on a thread like that! What's your idea? I'm curious now. :)_

_Yes, Draco is cursed! Cue the gasps and the 'I told you so's. But that is not all to do with our dear Mr Malfoy. He has yet more secrets to reveal. cackle_

_Jen_

_xox_


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** All is JKR's. Only the weird bits are mine. :P

…

Harry felt like he was going to faint. The world spun wildly, Snape's black-robed figure looming over his vision. The white sky wheeled above, the tracks glinted blackly, and waves of darkness like sea rollers were crashing against his struggling mind. He staggered. A part of his mind that was still functioning screamed with danger – the electrified tracks! He reached out to grab the first thing that came to hand to keep him steady.

His hand closed on the rough hem of Snape's dark robes. He stumbled, dragging on the fabric. The blackness was coming and going in front of his eyes. He wouldn't, he couldn't let himself be dragged under this time! He would be at Snape's mercy.

It occurred to Harry that he already was.

Falling to his knees on the gravel, he let go of the robes disgustedly. He looked up. Snape towered above him, black and corvine, his eyes menacing shadows under a curtain of greasy dark hair. He stood as still as if he were carved out of marble.

Harry panted for breath, his blood running cold in his veins. A chilling breeze ruffled his hair, spattering him with rain. Snape's robes billowed as he stared wordlessly, expressionlessly at Harry.

"What do you want?" Harry gasped finally, his voice sounding loud and harsh against the silence on the bridge. Snape's black eyes were as still and dead as the water below them. They sat, glinting, in hollows in his sallow face. _He escaped from Azkaban…_

Draco's godfather had escaped from Azkaban. Harry would have been amused if he wasn't so afraid. At least they had something in common. Harry fought his way to his feet, where he stood shorter than Snape's looming height. He willed himself to keep his eyes locked onto his former potion master's, but he couldn't meet that emotionless gaze. There was something empty about them, something like the eyes of a shark. Was Snape hunting him?

When he spoke again, it was the whisper of a cloak brushing against a stone floor, faint and cold. "Mr Potter," he repeated, as immovable as a statue where he stood on the side of the train tracks. "I come only to warn you." His whisper was devoid of any of Snape's familiar venom. It was as dry as parchment.

Harry tried to speak, but it felt like his voice had evaporated inside his throat. His mouth made shapes, but no words came out. No flicker of a reaction passed Snape's face; none had. It seemed no more than a sagging, grey mask. Something strange twisted inside Harry's chest. Where was the real Severus Snape? This was no more than a mannequin made in his image, a phantom or a demon that had taken his shape. It spoke again, whispered blown lightly away on the breeze so that Harry could barely hear them.

"Stay away," it murmured, lips barely moving. "You must stay away."

"From who?" Harry croaked.

"From my _godchild_," a tiny spark glimmered in the depths of Snape's eyes as he mentioned Draco, the words spat hoarsely. "Stay away!"

Harry stepped back as his breath caught in his throat. Was Snape warning Harry away from Draco?

"_Cursed, for the rest of my days."_

Draco's voice ghosted back to him, as clearly as if he were whispering in his ear. Harry suddenly felt a desperate, burning desire to know the details of this curse. As if connected to Harry's nerves, the rails beside him began to hiss and crackle with the electricity of an approaching train.

"Why?" He asked, leaning toward's Snape's death-mask of a face. "Why now? Why do you seem so desperate to protect Draco now that you would break out of Azkaban for him?"

Snape's white lip curled in an ugly sneer. "You think," he whispered, words gaining strength slowly. "You think I care about Draco Malfoy?" The flame in Snape's eyes leapt higher. "Mind your own business, Harry Potter, or suffer the consequences."

The far-off thunder of the approaching train was audible now, low and metallic.

"What if I refuse?" Harry hissed, emboldened. "What if I refuse to do anything you tell me, you greasy bastard?"

Snape laughed, sending a shiver down Harry's spine. It was high and cold; Snape threw his head back and laughed, animation twisting his face. For a moment the cold light caught his eyes and Harry's new boldness fled him. Needles of ice penetrated his limbs. There was something without limits there, ruthless and frightening. Harry could feel the rumble of the train in the ground below his feet.

"I have the power to kill you now," Snape snarled, dangerous eyes glinting like hard stones. "I have more power than you can imagine, Harry Potter."

The train rounded the corner, sliding into view beyond telegraph poles and towerblocks. It approached steadily, light reflected from its windows and nose. The electricity on the tracks seemed to jump and spit.

"Do you want me to kill you, Potter?"

Harry looked back at Snape, his mouth opening. Time seemed as if it had turned to treacle. Everything was moving in slow motion. Snape's hand came up, palm out and fingers stiff.

Harry felt the shockwave go through him like the grinding of tectonic plates. It hit him in the chest and flung him backward. He sailed backwards through the clear air, as if he were ascending into the blank sky.

He fell, carving an arc through the open space over the tracks. When he hit the huge, hard ground, the live metal caught him and bit him with electrical teeth. It felt as if every bone in his body was being dislocated from the others. Black and white volts wracked his body as it jumped and leapt in the path of the oncoming train. Agony seared through him. He felt as if his skull were about to crack open.

He was tossed aside like a rag doll, and his mind was wiped clean black.

…

_Author's Note:_

_Egads! Sorry I let it go that long without updating. But I promised myself I would not let it go longer than a week, no matter how busy I was. But know this, good readers:_

**_I will not abandon this fic._**

_I know how annoying it can be when somebody abandons a story midway, and I can promise you I won't do that. However hectic my life may be, I won't give this up until it comes to some kind of a reasonable conclusion. 'Kay?_

_Trust me. No matter how long I leave between the chapters, I will update again._

_Speaking of updating… With November coming hard upon us all (did I seriously just write 'coming hard upon us all'? I hope you slash fans picked up on that :), Life has invaded in a major way. I now work two days a week part time, attend nearly 19 hours of college education per week, and also have a theatre company and a boyfriend to cater to. I'm hoping to get into some sort of a system where I will churn out chapters on Sundays-Mondays and Thursdays-Fridays (my free-est days) to be posted on Tuesdays and Saturdays. KK?_

_Love ya,_

_Jen_

_Xox_

_Post Script: yay for Izzy, for being the 101st reviewer – and noticing!_


	15. Chapter 15

Harry opened his eyes into a weird white world. His mind felt sluggish and stretched, as if reality had turned to glue. Garbled noises moved around him, beyond a veil. Something was uttered very close to him. Harry was aware of it. He didn't try to move. He didn't have a very clear idea of who he was.

Nor did it matter. Shadows rolled from him as he drifted upwards, into the light.

The clarity shocked him. He had been a vague being; suddenly, as if by a snap of bone, he was _Harry Potter_. A grey life stretched in front of and behind him as if rolled out like a carpet – but it was more like a road. A single road into the void. Nothingness let go of him.

Harry groaned.

The sound rasped from his dry throat and flashes of pain bloomed in his brain. Each action brought him further from the comforting oblivion. He could make out the words in the sounds around him now, thought they were still round and unfamiliar.

"_Oh God…"_

He couldn't think who the voice might belong to. He was a nobody. Everybody he loved was dead.

No. That wasn't right. Harry Potter was dead.

No, again. Harry Potter was very much alive. The boy he had been was dead. That tenacious spark was gone.

Greyness filled his head, but the words intruded.

"_Harry, can you hear me?"_

They had a strange tone, something that made the part of himself that still remembered twinge with feeling. Who was this person? Who disturbed his dreams?

While he asked the questions, he knew they weren't sincere. Harry Potter couldn't feel curiosity. He was dead on the inside. Maybe he was dead on the outside as well. Maybe he wouldn't mind. But it certainly seemed like a strange heaven.

_Author's Note:_

_AARGH!_

_  
I know! That was only 304 words! Not even a chapter! I'll call it an interlude, because I need to talk to you. Just a reminder – I have not abandoned this story. I don't _want_ to abandon it. I was having a lot of fun with it before November began, and hopefully will have a lot of fun afterwards too. _

_But I come before you to tell you that you, in all probability, will not get another chapter before the end of November. It sucks, seriously sucks, I know, but I'll do my best to get another one out before the end. I can't promise anything. I thought I could do everything – work, school, two heavy-duty sets of writing chores – but I can't. NaNoWriMo has to take precedence because, frankly, this can wait and November won't. I wish it was different. I'll try to use my Sundays productively._

_Currently, I'm at 15,697 words. Pitiful for the eighth of November. I was ahead by quite a good cushion, but I squandered it on emotional crises. If you don't hate me too much, wish me luck? As it is – good luck to any of my dear readers doing NaNo!_


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